


You’ve got (owl) mail

by KAD4994



Series: Original Fics [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Businessman Draco, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Epistolary, F/M, Getting Together, M/M, Rivalry, Secret Identity, Shop Owner Harry, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-15
Updated: 2019-06-15
Packaged: 2020-05-12 10:05:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19226947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KAD4994/pseuds/KAD4994
Summary: Unbeknownst to them, Harry and Draco are anonymous penpals as well as rival store owners, giving them many reasons to hate each other, some reasons to like each other and at least one reason to love each other.





	You’ve got (owl) mail

You’ve got (owl) mail

 

Chapter 1:

 

Harry sat snugly in his cotton striped pyjamas under the weight of a particularly fluffy duvet, content in the knowledge that he had no work to go to today. Not that he didn’t love his job, he did in fact, but facing the crisp autumn air was not as appealing as his warm cocoon and the chance to use the WWWW, World-Wide-Wizarding-Web, undisturbed.

Startled from his reverie by the placing of a mug of steaming tea on his side table, Harry flashed Ginny a grateful smile. She did not acknowledge his thanks, too busy in getting ready for her training practice, to pay him any mind. The Harpies had been running her ragged this season thus far, and it was not unusual for Harry to be woken by his girlfriend slamming dresser drawers in her haste to get ready on bitter mornings. 

“You going to be gone all day?” He asked the redhead’s back as she bent down in front of him to tie her trainers. 

“Hmmm yeah, probably be back around 7, if you want to cook for then?” She answered absently as she stood up. 

Harry accepted her hug and quick peck on the cheek in farewell, the lingering perfume making him sneeze. A few minutes after the front door had shut, Harry cautiously inched his way to the window. Upon seeing her sporty ponytail bounce with her spirited gait at the far side of the street, Harry bounded over to where he’d placed his W-Book the night before. 

Pushing down any feelings of guilt, Harry tapped his wand to the nondescript parchment and waited in anticipation for the familiar looping script of WOL to appear. It was similar in look to his Marauder’s Map, running on the same runic Harry imagined. Except, this had the latest WAPPs, Wizarding Apps, and Harry was amazed at the innovation behind the fusion of magic and muggle technology.

Using his wand as a stylus, Harry scrolled over to his Inbox, the Owl symbol had a little number one next to it. Clicking on it embarrassingly fast, Harry was more than relieved to see that it was from SN7 at Owl-Mail and not a junk message. Heart beating suspiciously fast, Harry found himself grinning from the very offset of his PenPal’s missive. 

 

Dear Quidditchboy, (or should I call you Hufflepuff Heart after reading your last OwlMail where you waxed poetically about the beauty of autumn?) 

Sentimental language aside, I find myself agreeing with you that this time of year is the most ‘magical’ as you so eloquently put. There is something about September that is so refreshingly nostalgic. It makes me recall the happier times of my childhood, the start of a new year at Hogwarts, away from the stifling nature of my parents. Sometimes, I swear that at any moment I’ll hear the jovial tone of the woman who always asked, “Anything from the trolley dears?” Ah to be young and innocent again, although with how Hufflepuff you come across sometimes, I’m sure you still are. It makes me jealous!

Merlin! That story of your soaked through jeans nearly made me choke on pumpkin juice, which was unfortunate as I was in a meeting at the time. Whilst I’m glad that your godchildren were okay, I’m concerned that you did not remember to cast an impervious charm. Do you often forget you’re a wizard and that at the very least, a drying charm is possible? 

Alas quidditchboy, I must go for now, my father awaits and I have a feeling that my tapping at this parchment with my wand is not a sufficient enough excuse to delay his business any further. Are your family members as demanding as mine?

Yours,

SN7

 

The sarcastic tone amused Harry more than it should and he felt thankful once more that he met the mysterious man in the Wizards with Web chatroom that he’d happened upon a few days after purchasing the W-book for himself. The Wizarding World was small and so to keep it fun and light-hearted they agreed to keep it anonymous for now, Harry for obvious reasons was not eager to reveal his identity for a while. Too many tedious prophet related scandals had deterred him from opening up more to strangers. 

Harry eagerly tapped his reply, happy to have no interruptions for once as he spoke inanely about his day to day life with the man who already felt like a friend. 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 2: 

“Draco, Draco? Are you listening to me?” The attractive brunette attempted to regain the blonde’s attention impatiently by clicking her fingers in his direction. 

Draco sighed, “Yes Astoria, you were saying that Daphne and stolen your idea for the charity brunch and passed it off as her own.” He aimed to look more engaged as his animated partner conversed with him avidly. 

“Yes.. The Committee for Restoration And Peace were all for serving the breakfast mojitos in glasses made from this muggle material ‘plastic’ as it’s supposedly unbreakable.” Astoria grimaced while she waited for Draco to act suitably horrified.

Satisfied with his wrinkled nose and an eyebrow arch, she continued her monologue. “I know, I’m all for muggle stuff when it’s avant-garde but there’s nothing tackier than alcohol served in something other than Elvin-made glass. I said to Daphne that if they were scared of damage, then they could always charm the glass unbreakable. Honestly, it’s like they forget we have magic!” 

This did make Draco smile as he was reminded about the story his hapless PenPal had told him, about how he had tried to stop his godchildren from wreaking havoc and had ended up being soaked from the waist down after wading through a wishing fountain to rescue/coral the imps. He’d apparently had a meeting with a client shortly thereafter and had seemingly forgotten the existence of drying charms as he wrote about anxiously trying to dry off with paper towels and napkins. 

Though this stranger seemed to be a bit of a bumbling fool and perhaps a closet Hufflepuff, Draco thanked Merlin that he’d discovered the man on WOL. He’d only bought the W-Book at Astoria’s behest, it was apparently the ‘in’ thing to mix magic with muggle and Draco had nothing against boosting his reputation with the masses. Sceptical at first, especially with the incessant wand tapping, now Draco’s favourite part of the day was the time he got to speak to Quidditchboy via Owl-Mail. 

His fingers itched to grab his W-book as Astoria continued her list of minor grievances, he’d not checked to see if he’d any messages as yet today, though he’d thought that he’d better not whilst she was with him. There was something about his correspondence that he wished to keep separate from her. Resolving to check later after she’d gone to sleep, he somewhat succeeded in pushing his PenPal from his mind and renewed his focus on his admittedly attractive companion.

 

Later that night, Draco laid restlessly in bed waiting. Finally, after checking that his bedmate’s breathing was heavy with sleep, he inched his way tentatively across their bedroom and to the dresser that was littered with various cosmetic concoctions that belonged to Astoria. Careful to not disturb her slumber, he retrieved his W-book and brought it into his cold study. Anxious to start it up, he waited til he could see the formation of the WOL script before he cast a few localised heating charms. The breath he’d not realised he’d been holding was released roughly when he saw that he’d received another message from Quidditchboy. 

Dear SN7,

Very funny, are you sure you’re not a comedian? I can safely say that I’m not a Hufflepuff, though there’s nothing wrong with them of course. If we are guessing houses, I’d say you’re a Ravenclaw or Slytherin? The way you speak suggests you’ve more than a fair amount of intelligence and there’s quite a lot of sass in you to make you interesting! Not that house stereotypes should be a thing, we are all fully rounded individuals after all! 

I know, I know. I’m an idiot! I can picture you nodding along at this point my snarky friend, and I’m sad to say I have no defence of my character. I’ve always been a rush in and (perhaps) think later kind of guy. It’s part of my charm, obviously.  
Feel free to call me Hufflepuff for this, but I’ll admit that talking to you these past few months has been brilliant. I feel like I’ve known you years, but at the same time you’re so different to everyone I’ve ever known. I don’t think I’ve ever spoke to someone who makes me laugh and shake my head in the despair like you do. Don’t ever change! 

How did your meeting go? Did you choke on anymore pumpkin juice? In answer to your question, whilst I do not have any ‘biological family’ left to make demands of me, my adoptive family and friends can often be a bit much. In a good way of course! It’s just that there are so many of them and they’re all quite fiery and strong willed. It leads to heated discussions at times, and I often get caught in the middle. Still, I guess that’s family? I’m thankful to have them to be honest. 

Write back soon,

Quidditchboy

Smiling softly to himself, Draco composed his reply making sure to add in as many witty jibes he could muster. A glance at the clock told him that it had been half an hour since he’d started and that the hour was exceedingly late. Sighing, he pressed send and crept back into his bed, setting a tempus alarm for the morning. It was going to be a long day. 

 

 

Chapter 3: 

Harry woke up refreshed and eager to be back at work. Though he enjoyed having his Monday’s off, it certainly gave him time to finish digesting Molly’s extraordinary Sunday lunch, he adored his shop and the customers that frequented it. 

The short walk to Quality Quidditch Supplies was filled with rumination; Harry wondered whether he should ask George if his team could come up with a firebolt inspired sweet for the latest model unveiling in October, he deliberated on whether he should let Luna have another crack at designing a display after he’d had to remove her last one for the broomstick polish (there had been one too many complaints by concerned parents). The consideration was cut short by his arrival and subsequent need of concentration to access the wards to the shop. They recognised him easily as the owner and the shutters slowly started to rise. 

Surveying his store with pride, he couldn’t help but be pleased at the enormous change it had gone through in the aftermath of the war and in his hands. Initially, Harry had begun Auror training after the final battle had concluded, but his heart was no longer in it. Still plodding along through his training, he’d taken a stroll through Diagon during one of his lunch breaks. His eyes had been drawn to the still boarded up windows and the sign on the door that had announced it was for sale due to the owner moving abroad. Money and paperwork had exchanged hands shortly thereafter (much to Hermione’s disapproval at his reckless spontaneity) and Harry had quickly built it up to the success that stood before him today. 

The doorbell chimed the entrance of his employees (and friends), and Harry greeted them with a cheerful morning, almost missing the concern that marred the usually upbeat Hannah Abbot as she trusted in after the others. 

“Harry, have you seen the sign that’s gone up this morning at the bottom of Diagon?” She but her lip in worry. 

“What do you mean?” Harry frowned, puzzled that he couldn’t recall a sign posted on his commute.

“It says, Quidditch Direct coming soon!” Hannah spoke softly and Harry froze inwardly in horror for five seconds before pasting an optimistic smile on his face as he addressed his team.

“I wouldn’t worry guys, we are known for our quality supplies not that cheap knockoff stuff, and there’s enough business for both of us I’m sure.” The staff did not look completely convinced and with good reason, Quidditch Direct had driven other independent stores across the UK to ruin with their chain store discounts that couldn’t be competed with. 

Around one hundred metres from where Harry gnawed on his lip concerned with his unfortunately news, Draco Malfoy apparated into the recently renovated super store with a sharp click of his heels. He briefly shook hands with his friend and long term business associate Blaise Zabini, and they meandered around their new and vast warehouse style store.

Racks upon racks of brooms stood, pristine in their packaging, conveniently organised by brand and broom size. There were brooms organised by purpose; long haul travel brooms, heavy weight brooms suitable for luggage, as well as children’s brooms and recreational brooms. The rows upon rows of quidditch gear would sure to be a big seller, each team had their colours represented so that fans could show their support without the hassle of paying exorbitantly for the logos of the official merchandise. In short, this new store was sure to be profitable when it opened, Draco would stake anything upon that. 

Blaise smirked as he realised that his blonde friend was in a world of his own, humming with contentment in a manner almost unheard of for a Malfoy. “Is my little Draco finally in love?” He teased, amused by the shock splashed across his face. 

“What?! In love? No way.. I mean, I guess I love Astoria.” Draco stuttered somewhat comically. 

“You guess you love Astoria? That’s red hot passion, if I’ve ever heard it my friend.” Blaise chuckled to himself, “So if there’s no imminent wedding bells, what’s got you in such a good mood?” 

Draco paused as he pretended to be intently surveying a trophy snitch on the shelf in front of him. “I don’t know Blaise. Can you like someone you’ve never met?” 

“Ooh, another woman?”

“No! Of course not. I’m attached to Astoria as you know.” Draco sniffed dramatically, “I have a PenPal, a guy. He’s just pretty interesting tis all.” 

“A guy? How scandalous! I didn’t know you had it in you.” Blaise looked positively delighted and Draco flushed.

Struggling to compose himself, he summoned his Malfoy mask before answering coolly, “It’s not like that as you well know, now I think it’s time we visit my father, he’ll want to see how we are getting on.

“Such a poor changing of subject for a Slytherin.” Blaise muttered, and Draco chose not to hear. 

 

His father’s study was as forebodingly decadent as ever when the two were shown in by one of their legions of house-elves. Draco had grown out of his childhood taste of ostentatious opulence, preferring his spacious and minimalistic home to the gaudy gold fixtures that plagued the study. 

“How’s it looking?” Lucius asked his son in greeting when he had noted their entrance, carefully placing his feather quill in its ornate holder. 

“It’s looking well. Be ready to open in a week or two. Must say the house-elves have worked wonders on the place.” 

Lucius nodded thoughtfully, “Our opening announcement sparked any waves in the community?” 

“Not that we know of. We’ve surveyed several focus groups, and feedback is mostly positive.” Blaise grinned as he delivered the news, he certainly had a flair for business. 

“Good, and competitors?” Lucius raised an eyebrow in inquisition. 

“There’s just Quality Quidditch Supplies at the North Side of Diagon.” Draco shrugged.

“Ah yes, I thought that had closed down a few years ago? Didn’t the owner decamp to the continent after the war?” Lucius asked with little care to the answer.

“You’re right, but Potter bought it remember? The Prophet had a field day when he dropped out of the Aurors and became a shopkeeper of all things.” Blaise smirked and then took a swig from a proffered tumbler of whiskey. 

Draco startled, then smoothed out his expression as he accepted his drink from the same house-elf. “Potter? A shopkeeper? I’d love to see that.” 

Both Malfoys ignored the muttered, ‘I bet you would’ that Blaise couldn’t help but comment. Instead, Lucius furrowed his brow; “Hmm, if the Chosen One is running the show, it could pose more of a difficulty. Surely his many fans come there to gawk at him?” 

“They might have done at first, but now they’re used to him on Diagon. I wouldn’t be worried.” Blaise assured them with a nonchalant air. 

Draco rolled his eyes, “Of course we’re not worried. A Gryffindor cannot hope to match our business sense.” 

 

 

 

Chapter 4: 

 

Harry couldn’t avoid the underlying worry that nagged him in the days following the announcement of Quality Quidditch’s imminent arrival. Though he tried to put on a brave face, coupled with unyielding optimism, he couldn’t help but fear that the reputation of the superstore was warranted and that it would shut down his shop with ease.

When he’d spoken to Ginny in the hope of alleviating his anxiety, she’d been too busy to offer much support but had assured him that the store would be fine, after all it was as popular as ever. This didn’t assuage all his concerns however and he’d taken to the WWWW to find out information on the company. Though he’d spent a good few hours on his W-book, the only thing he could see was that the owners were the elusive GoodFaith Corporation, the names of individual employees could not be found no matter how hard he tried. 

Still, Harry had not survived a war and defeated the darkest wizard of all time by being a quitter. With his plucky attitude restored, Harry set out on his daily excursion to his beloved shop, a determined spring to his step. He was anxious to get in and ensure his stock were in order, this Saturday was usually the busiest of the year. Parents of students at Hogwarts were sure to have received notice of their child making the school team and so would be eager to reward their offspring with the latest models. Harry loved this, reminiscing over the joy he’d felt when he’d received his own Nimbus2000, he couldn’t help the warm feeling he got by being a part of that. 

Humming to himself, he got to work with arranging his newest stock. Though he’d never been artistic, he couldn’t help but be proud of his displays, he’d tried to bring magic to the presentation of his goods. In the middle of the store was a golden chandelier of snitches fluttering in an orbital motion; a shelf to the left advertised the latest quidditch leathers upon wax models of upcoming sport-stars. It was chaotic, beautiful and full of life. 

 

In a Wizarding house a fair distance away from Diagon Alley, Draco mustered as much enthusiasm as he possibly could for the imminent outing. It was not that he didn’t care about his cousin Teddy, he did, it was more that he didn’t know how to interact with children.

His mother had been eager in her endeavours to reunite with her remaining family in the aftermath of the war. His Aunt Andromeda did not exactly welcome with open arms, but she had at least agreed to a renewed acquaintance. Several years had passed and Draco regularly accompanied his mother to his Aunt’s house for tea and to spend time with his seven year old cousin.  
Teddy, whilst adorable, was often far too excitable. His hair would flit rapidly through the colours of the rainbow, eager to hold the attention of the older blonde. He beamed emphatically when it was decided that Draco would take Teddy to Diagon Alley for light shopping and some ice cream. It was, unbeknownst to the youngster, a ploy to get him out of the house so that the women could have their tête-à-tête undisturbed. 

The aristocratic blonde soon regretted the decision to go to Diagon on such a crowded Saturday afternoon. Battling through teeming swarms of people; pushy mothers and imposing fathers, was made much more difficult with a young child in tow. Still, he had made it through worse, and how adventurous could a shopping trip be? 

 

Harry’s feet were aching as he served yet another demanding customer. The frizzy haired woman that spoke to him did not seem to realise or care about the grumbling queue behind her. He smiled patiently as he signalled for Luna to come over and engage the chatty woman in a nonsensical conversation whilst he helped others. It sometimes seemed that Luna’s greatest strength laid in her patience to converse with the even most verbose of people; a trait Harry didn’t have. 

The tinkling of the bell chimed the arrival of her another entry into his store. This customer did not wait for Harry to greet them, instead he began running towards the hapless hero with a high pitched squeal.

“Uncle Harry! Uncle Harry! Guess what? Cousin Draco bought me my new favourite ice cream blueberry muffin. Want to try some?” His godson Teddy bounced in glee and Harry struggled to keep the proffered ice cream spilling on himself or his stock. 

“Um no thank you Teddy,” he gently nudged the ice cream away from where it loomed towards his face. Suddenly Harry seemed to notice the blonde hair that the youngster currently sported and recalled his earlier comment. “Wait, did you say your cousin Draco bought you it? Do you mean Malfoy?” 

“Of course Uncle Harry, he’s looking after me today. We’ve been in all sorts of shops. He says next time he’ll get me fitted for some proper Wizarding robes…” Teddy spoke excitedly and Harry’s eyes were drawn to the amused grey ones he could see across the room. 

Draco had reluctantly followed his charge through the door and had been watching the encounter with barely concealed humour. His eyes swiftly appraised Potter’s physique, it had filled out in the years since the war and the toned frame clearly suited him. The easy grin and fondness contained in the man’s expression charmed Draco and he found himself relishing the opportunity to observe this carefree encounter.  
When Teddy had dashed into his ‘Uncle Harry’s’ store, Draco had been nervous for several reasons. The first obvious one was that it was Harry Potter, a person he’d loathed in school and had since barely seen after the ordeal of the war trials. If they’d stumbled upon seeing each other in the past, it had been dealt with awkwardly yet civilly. Cool nods and all that! Draco could only hope that this would be as painless, especially now it felt so so wrong to be in his competitor’s store. If Potter knew he owned Quidditch Direct, he’d be accused of corporate espionage for sure. 

Harry was startled. He’d not seen the blonde properly in years, and now here he was accompanying his beloved godson. The lithe figure of grace sauntered its way over towards him and Harry had to swallow the dryness of his throat. 

“Sorry for the intrusion Potter, Teddy here was adamant about seeing his ‘Uncle Harry’” Draco began as he ruffled the blonde hair of his smaller counterpart. 

“No problem Malfoy. I’m always happy to see Ted.” Harry smiled at his godson fondly, the little boy was now happily engaged with licking his ice cream coated lips and scanning avidly about the store. 

Feeling obligated to speak and carry the conversation onwards, Draco searched for a new conversation starter., “I didn’t realise you owned this place Potter till the other day.

Harry chuckled. “You must have been nearly the only one then. The Prophet harangued me for weeks when I first took ownership. Fortunately, it’s quietened down somewhat now.”

“Quiet? Sure I can see that.” Draco jibed sarcastically, placing a teasing smirk upon his face as he observed the melee of the shop. It was clear that business was booming, a hum of customers made their way steadily through the merchandise, aided by the helpful (and mostly Gryffindor) staff members.

Understanding what Malfoy was indicating, Harry ruffled his own hair with a self-deprecating smile. “Oh yeah it’s one of our busiest days today and we have a lot of loyal customers. Still, there’s that Quidditch Direct store coming soon that might give us some competition.” 

“Did you say Quidditch Direct uncle Harry? Cousin Draco..” Teddy began, eager to join in the adult conversation. 

Draco cut him off before the damage could truly be done. “ … I’ve been to one. But Teddy, I don’t think Potter is interested in that, he’s got customers to see I’m sure.” 

“I do? Um, yeah you’re right Malfoy. I guess I best be going to rescue that family from Luna.” Harry stirred, feeling like the blonde had abruptly shut down what had been a surprisingly pleasant conversation. 

“Yes, you wouldn’t want her telling too many tales of Wrackspurt infestation.” Draco drawled before clasping the hands of the sticky fingered boy. “Come on Teddy, let’s get back home, we’ve disrupted Potter here for far too long.” 

“It’s actually been good Malfoy. Teddy, I’ll come visit you soon alright? Behave for your Grandma and Cousin and I may have to bring you a present.” Harry felt a pang at seeing the duo leave, he told himself that he’d compensate by spending more time with his godson soon. 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 5: 

Dear SN7,

I know lately I’ve been a bit distracted, it’s just hard to contain the worry I feel about the imminent future. Something may be coming that threatens my perfect little world and bubble that I’ve finally got for myself. It’s hard to always be the strong one and I’ve so many people depending on me. 

Alright, I’ll quit my whining now as I imagine you saying. There’s no use worrying over things that may not even happen. I’ve never been a worrier, that has always been my friend’s job. She’s always made the plans and had the stress. You’re right in that I am as gung-ho as a righteous Gryffindor. It amazed me how correct your assessment was, though I guess I didn’t hide my ‘insufferable earnest nature’ as you so kindly put it. 

Did you end up getting the ice cream marks out of your robes? I’ll admit that the thought of you stoically bearing the indignity of the mess caused by your family warms the cockles of my heart. I recently also encountered a messy imp with ice cream. But I fortunately avoided the sticky substance. Perhaps we should petition for the invention of non-messy ice cream? Clean candy for all? Immaculate ice cream for innocents? I’ll admit my alliteration and slogan making needs more work. 

It’s strange SN7 that you’ve managed to cheer me up and I’ve not even had a response from you yet. Just picturing your reaction at my appalling wordsmith makes me grin like a buffoon. You’re just what I needed so thank you.

Till your reply,

Quidditchboy 

 

Draco couldn’t help but smile at his PenPal’s latest missive. The new store on Diagon was opening the day after tomorrow and the hectic schedule had impeded him from checking his WOL account. He could one hundred percent understand the plight of the other man; he too had experienced the heart-wrenching nausea that came from an insurmountable threat to one’s way of life. Sometimes he wished that they could reveal themselves to one another, but he was afraid that his friend would hold his defamed identity in contempt. 

For now, Draco had only his vague offers of reassurance to give the man, as he was not yet able to share personally. This would have to be enough. 

 

In just a short few days later, Draco had the beginnings of a migraine. The opening of the store had been a roaring success; he had witnessed the event under the guise of polyjuice. It would hardly help the company if their customers realised that the Malfoys were the owners. It was far better for Draco and his father to take a step back and enjoy the success from the anonymity of their GoodFaith Corporation. 

Though his professional life had been nothing but a success, his personal was starting to give him a headache. Astoria had found his invitation to his Aunt Andromeda’s annual Harvest lunch, which he’d been planning on ignoring, and insisted that they both attend. She felt that it would be the perfect way to cement their relationship with the introduction to the extended family. Draco disagreed and the argument was still ongoing. 

“I just don’t understand Draco, are you ashamed of me?” Astoria pouted as they spoke over their evening dinner. 

Draco took an admittedly large swig from his glass of wine before answering. “Of course I’m not ashamed of you. I just don’t want to spend an evening being scowled at by distant family members from the ‘light side’ of the war.” 

“Don’t be silly dear, it’s been years, I’m sure everyone is over that.” She said glibly. “Now, what shall I wear? I need to make a good impression.” 

Astoria continued to waffle on about outfits and colour coordination; Draco no longer had the strength to argue with her, not when he’d inevitably give in. Astoria was a force to be reckoned with and she somehow always got her own way. The Hat had placed her well in Slytherin he mused. 

Resigned to the fact that he would be attending the shindig, he tried to get what he could out of his partner. “Fine. Fine. I’ll go. But I hope you know that this will need making up for. I’m only doing it for you.”

A coy smile graced her lips, “Oh Draco, I can start making it up for you now.” She laughed as she pulled him from their balcony table, nearly spilling the remaining wine in his glass. 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 6: 

Ginny tried for the millionth time to get his hair to stay flat. A loud sigh later and Harry could see her reflection in the mirror, holding up her hands in defeat. 

“I can’t do it Harry. It refuses every known law of physics: muggle and magical.” She scowled at his offending scalp before shrugging and resuming the styling on her own hair. Harry surveyed himself in the mirror, he didn’t think he looked half bad really; he’d given up a long time ago on his hair, much to Ginny’s dismay. The forest green plaid shirt with his latest grey jeans suited him perfectly, Harry thought his appearance could be worse. 

“Last chance to ditch tonight and go out for curry instead?” Harry half-joked. Though he loved visiting Andromeda, he’d prefer it if there wasn’t the opportunity for sycophants to sequester him, and who knew how many people had received an invite this year?

“Don’t be silly Harry.” Ginny chided gently with an eye roll. “You’ll be fine, I’ll protect you from your fans! Plus you know you’ve been wanting to see Teddy, he’d be gutted if you didn’t show.”

Harry watched her as she strode across their carpeted bedroom purposefully. Her athletic body displayed alluringly in a mid thigh black dress. Long and slim legs showcased by her towering heels that made it so she reached near to his height. Grabbing her purse, she indicated to Harry that it was time for them to go, looping her arm through his as they stepped into the fireplace.

 

Draco was not having a terrible time at his aunt’s house. The food had been sublime (reminiscent of the feasts they’d been served at Hogwarts), the wine had been plentiful and the other guests had not thrown many dark looks his way. In fact, the majority of the attention came from onlookers startled by Astoria’s rather vociferous laugh. It was clear that she’d had one too many drinks in her endeavour to calm her nerves for the night; her cheeks had an alcohol infused blush and her eyes were darkly dilated.

“I think they like me Draco.” Astoria spoke spiritedly to him after one of his distant cousins had excused themselves to the bathroom. Draco nodded appeasingly at his date, who had carried on in her rambling monologue regardless. “…Everyone has been super nice, and the food’s been great. It’s hard to imagine your aunt doesn’t have a house-elf.”

“Yes… hold on Astoria I’ll get us some more drinks.” Draco guided her towards a seat, deciding that she could use some more water. If only to prevent a catastrophe. 

 

Andy’s place had quickly warmed up with the sheer amount of body heat it contained and Harry yearned to switch the button up for one of his comfy T-shirts. Still, it had not been too bad thus far, and Ginny was clearly having a great time as she spoke exuberantly with her old Gryffindor chums. Feeling a bit out of his comfort zone, Harry excused himself to the bathroom, if only to gather a little bit of peace. 

On his way back down the stairs, he spotted a strikingly familiar head of white blonde hair. Harry, of course, needed a closer look and so followed the figure towards the drinks table. 

“Fancy seeing you here Malfoy,” Harry was gratified to see the blonde jump a little in surprise. 

Quickly recovering the blonde smoothed out of his features, nodding in greeting, “Potter. I should have known you’d be lurking in the shadows waiting to jump out at me.”

“It’s what I live for.” Harry agreed sagely, surprised at the playful tone the conversation had embodied. 

“Yes well, sorry to disappoint, but I best be getting back to my date. I have been tasked with bringing her some water and I cannot fail my gentlemanly duty.” Draco smirked, unwilling to consider any deeper on why Potter’s appearance had discomforted him so much. He had just felt the urge to retreat back to Astoria where it was safe, rather than linger near those magnificently bright eyes. 

Harry watched him leave and head over to a pretty dark haired woman poised elegantly on a love seat. His observation was interrupted however by a warm hand placed on the crook of his elbow.

“Harry. I’m so glad you came. I wasn’t sure if Ginny would be able to make you. You should visit Teddy before you leave, he’s in his room with Narcissa.” 

“I will Andy. It’s been lovely, the food has been great.” Harry smiled at the warm woman he had grown to admire greatly. 

“Surprised to see you and Draco getting on so well, especially considering everything..” Andy remarked dryly. 

Shocked, Harry replied. “What do you mean? The war has been over years and it’s hardly like Malfoy and I are school rivals anymore.” 

“Not that Harry, I thought you knew..” She wasn’t sure whether she should continue if he were truly ignorant.

“Andy, what do you mean?” He asked earnestly, a dark sense of foreboding welling up within him. 

“I’m not sure I should say. I guess you deserve to know, particularly if you’re to be friends.” Andy deliberated momentarily before deciding. “Just that the Malfoys are the owners of Quidditch Direct, I assumed you knew they were your competitors.”

Harry spoke woodenly. “No, on WOL it just says GoodFaith Corporation..” 

He trailed off, feeling like an absolute idiot. Malfoy had played him, coming in to his store, being all friendly and charming, trying to sabotage him! Harry fumed. Anger that had not dwelt within him since school rose up valiantly and he marched towards where the git stood surveying the party. 

“I can’t believe you!” Harry snarled as he gripped the blonde’s arm forcefully and pulled him to a secluded corner. 

“I know, it’s hard to believe that I’m not part Veela with these stunning looks.” Draco smirked then quietened at the fury on the dark haired’s face. 

“Using my godson to spy on my store is low. Even for you Malfoy.” Emerald eyes blazed dangerously.

Draco scoffed. “I did not use Teddy, I assure you. I have no need to spy on your little store Potter.” 

“Likely story. Tell me, how do you sleep at night?” Harry fumed.

“He uses one of those diluted dreamless sleep if he’s particularly stressed.” Astoria chipped in as she joined Draco’s side, slightly more worse for wear. 

“Oh, I’ve heard about those.” Ginny piped up, having left her entourage of sport fanatics and reaching possessively for Harry’s hand. “Aren’t they supposed to limit your metabolism though?” 

“Oh not the newer ones, they fixed the formula after WitchWeekly ran an OpEd on the products.” Astoria replied knowledgeably; “I’m Astoria Greengrass by the way. And of course you’re Ginevra Weasley and Harry Potter.” 

The pure blood woman showed her good manners with a handshake to both, startling the two Gryffindors. Ginny recovered first with a brusque handshake; “Call me Ginny. I think you were in my year? And of course we all know Malfoy.” 

Harry laughed humourlessly at that, still fuming from their earlier revelation. “Well, this has been pleasant but I think we should go.” 

Ginny gave him a look that he returned with a ‘help me’ expression. For once, she acquiesced and feigning a yawn she replied. “Yes I suppose it’s getting late. Need my rest during quidditch season.” 

Draco stood mutely, watching the interaction with an arched brow as Astoria bade them both a goodbye with the fondness only a tipsy person could muster. 

 

He was left to his own devices in the hours after the party; Ginny had decided to use the unexpected free time to hit the gym and upon returning had promptly fallen asleep, clearly worn from an extensive workout. This had given Harry many, many hours to stew about the conversations he’d shared with Malfoy and the anger that simmered beneath. How could Harry have been so stupid to think that the blonde may have changed? How could he have begun to admire the manipulative jerk? Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. 

Having worked himself up into a quiet but fretful rage, Harry struggled to sleep. He prowled the WWWW on his W-book to aid distraction, but nothing prevailed. Checking his WOL account his heart leapt, he’d received another message from SN7 within the last few hours. Perfect. His PenPal was clearly attuned to when Harry needed him to revive his mood. 

 

Dear Quidditchboy,

Have you ever done something you regret? (Of course you haven’t, you’re a just and better than good Gryffindor). I have. Well, if I’m honest, I’ve done a lot of things I regret, but at the time they seemed necessary, so I don’t blame myself too much for them. What I do blamed myself for is for hurting someone who actually might be a decent guy.

I used to hate this person. I thought he was self-righteous and earnest (kind of similar to you actually Quidditchboy) and I couldn’t see past my own inferiority complex to realise that those traits weren’t exactly bad. Luckily with a lot of introspection, I got over that and grew up at least at little and now I can appreciate a Gryffindor like yourself! 

Anyway, I think I’ve done something I shouldn’t have to this guy. Now, I can’t regret my professional actions, that’s just business; but perhaps I could have been more upfront and honest with him? Not resorted to my (rather brilliant) snarky self? 

Alas, at least I still have one good Gryffindor on my side. Perhaps it’s the maudlin talking, the need for absolution but do you think we should meet?

Yours, SN7

Harry closed his W-book in surprise, his heart thudding painfully. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 7:

 

Thinking about seeing his PenPal in person left Harry with an unsettling case of butterflies in his abdomen. He hadn’t replied to the man yet, too scared to accept but also not wanting to decline. For now, Harry put it out of his mind. He was glad Hermione didn’t know about it, too busy with the brutal combination of motherhood and ministry work to pay him too much mind, otherwise she’d never had let him hear the end of it. Hermione had made her feelings of procrastination quite clear when he’d avoided the golden egg challenge in fourth year, and he was in no mood for more scolding. 

Besides, right now his shop needed him. He had been horrified to learn that his profits had been down from this time last year. It seemed that Malfoy’s store had seduced some of his custom with their cheap knock off branded brooms, some mass produced crap that had been churned out with little care to quality. Goodness, even the staff that worked at Quidditch Direct had no soul; it was all buy our stock and then leave. No chatting, no banter and no family focussed care. Why would people put convenience over quality? Harry didn’t understand, and if he didn’t act soon he’d risk losing the store he held so dear. 

It was this desperation that forced Harry to summon his courage and reply to SN7, he needed his advice. The man had shown he was as wily as any businessman, perhaps he could help him? Thus he wrote his response to the long neglected invitation.

 

Dear SN7, 

Sorry for the delay in my reply, my only excuse is that I have been dealing with a pressing matter. Of course we should meet up. If I can just figure out a solution to my problem first.

Perhaps you can help? I trust your advice more than anything. My business is in trouble and I’m scared I’ll lose it if things continue the way they are. 

Yours,

Quidditchboy 

 

A response came immediately in the form of a popup chart to his WOL account. Harry startled, his pulse fluttering. 

SN7 says: Are you online? I can help.

Quidditchboy says: I’m here. And can you? I’m struggling.

SN7 says: Of course. I’m great at business! Now, I know this will go against your moral compass my honourable friend. But you need to fight dirty. Pretend you’re a Slytherin if you must. But you need to do all you can to sabotage your competitors. Business isn’t personal. 

Quidditchboy says: It’s that simple?

SN7 says: Well… no. But without getting more detailed information then yes, it is that simple. You need to find their weaknesses and exploit it, use your strengths and win. Above all remember, there are no rules here. Not when it’s your business being threatened!

 

Harry closed his eyes and rubbed tiredly at his forehead. So, he had to fight dirty? He could do that. Especially if it meant saving his store. Besides, he already had his first idea. 

 

The headline in the Prophet the following day made Draco want to spit out his tea. Astoria, noticing his scowl, asked him what was wrong. Slamming down his cup of tea, he thrust the paper towards her with a glare in its direction. Astoria perused the front page with interest.  
Upon it she saw several ‘exclusive’ article headings that made her snort in amusement:

Holyhead Harpies Hero Heralds Quality Quidditch Supplies! 

Saviour’s Store needs Saving!

Mass made and Malfoy: How ex-death eaters have managed to make money from you

GoodFaith Corporation really bad?

“Well I’m glad you find it funny Astoria. Father’s going to be furious. Of course this is all Potter’s doing.” Draco spoke poisonously. 

“Oh lighten up Draco, people were bound to find out you owned the stores eventually, Rita would have scooped it at some point.” Astoria tried to placate her boyfriend. 

He ruminated on her words a little longer before nodding. “I suppose you’re right. He’s only done this as he’s scared for his shop. If only this doesn’t hurt sales, otherwise father will be on his way to Azkaban for doing what the dark lord couldn’t -killing the chosen git.”

“That’s the spirit.” Astoria smiled triumphantly, happy that she’d managed to curb one of Draco’s tantrums before it had started.

 

Chapter 8:

 

Harry was unsure if he’d ever spoken to the press as much as he had the past few weeks. Perhaps when the war had just finished? But this came a close second. Ginny and her team had come through endorsing his store; stating that there could be only one place to go for quality goods. The press were having a field day with the fact that it was the Malfoys that owned the business. Harry did feel slightly guilty for that one, he probably shouldn’t have let that bit slip. Still the overwhelming support had been hugely gratifying. 

In amidst the pandemonium that was the business with his store, it would have been easy to forget his PenPal’s proposal to meet in person. But Harry didn’t. Harry couldn’t, the anticipation to meet this man consumed him. He couldn’t help but wonder what he would be like; Harry suspected he’d be coolly attractive, perhaps elegant? He certainly wrote that way. 

 

The palaver with Potter and the press had caused Draco’s headache to re-emerge. It was now thrumming with vengeance as he and Blaise made their way to his father’s study. The overstuffed office only caused his head to hurt more; too many swirly patterns and bejewelled ornaments were perhaps the cause.  
“Seems you irked Potter, my son.” Lucius mused as he placed down a fresh copy of the Daily Prophet, complete with new scathing headlines about him and his store. 

“Now to be fair to Draco, he irks Potter just by living.” Blaise laughed, unfazed as ever. 

“Yes well, we knew backlash would come one day.” Draco sniffed imperiously, “How’s the store doing with all this press?” 

Blaise opened up his charmed portfolio, a clever blend of arithmancy codes he’d used to provide an update account of the store’s balances. “It would seem that the store is holding steady, in fact there’s been a spike in sales since the news articles first hit.”

“Well, well. It would seem that despite how scandalous our image is, people still want to buy the cheaper alternative when it comes to goods.” Lucius smirked, pleased with the news. 

“Money is money, no matter the name attached.” Draco chipped in, his headache clearing a little. 

“Indeed. Well update me if anything changes, we can get your friend Parkinson and her company to organise PR if needs be.” Lucius dismissed his son and business partner. 

 

“Well that went well.” Blaise remarked dryly before they began the spin of apparition to one of their favourite drinking spaces. 

Draco ordered two tumblers at the bar and slid them onto their shared table. Blaise grinned his thanks and downed it in one go. 

“I’m actually surprised Potter’s holy mission to berate me hasn’t had an effect on our profit.” Draco remarked idly as he sipped his drink smoothly.

“I’m not.” Blaise smirked before continuing knowledgeable. “People may not like the Malfoy name but they like the prices. Potter’s stuff might be much better quality but it’s not cheap.”

“That’s true.” Draco nodded before lapsing into a thoughtful silence. Deliberating, he decided to confide the worries of his mind that had been bugging him. 

“So, I told you about that guy I’ve been talking to, right?” He began cautiously as Blaise perked up in interest. He’d not heard Draco speak about anything personal since Hogwarts, so he urged him on. Taking the cue. “Well, I’ve suggested meeting up with him, and he’s agreed.” 

“That’s good, isn’t it Draco? I mean you like this guy. Though what will you say to Astoria?” Blaise spoke reasonably.  
“Nothing. Unless it goes well.” Draco sighed. “ I really hope it goes well Blaise. You know I’m not into that mushy crap, but I think I really like this guy.” 

He saw Blaise’s eyes widen in shock. “Wow. That’s practically a proposal coming from you. Poor Astoria’s been waiting years to hear that from you. So when’s the meet up with the lucky guy?” 

“Saturday. Apparently he has Sundays off.”

“Ah, good if the date runs late.” Blaise winked before sauntering over to the bar, clearly ever aware of the many eyes upon his delectable figure. Draco was used to his friend’s conspicuous posturing and just smiled bemusedly. It was always one hell of a night when he went out with Blaise. The man could certainly hold his liquor.

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 9:

Four days later and Draco had accomplished many things. The first being, of course, not succumbing to the sickness brought on by his depravity filled night of alcohol abuse. A handy hangover potion, whilst unpleasant, allowed Draco to at least somewhat function as Vice-President of their company. The second success though had required far more tactical negotiation, wheedling and pleading, to get Blaise to acquiesce to coming to the night’s big meeting with his PenPal. 

It was only sensible after all, who knew what this messenger would be like? He could be a crazed neo-deatheater embarking on a serial killing rampage, Draco as his first victim. No, it was best to have back up. Though the blonde would never admit that the real reason he’d pressured his friend to escort him was that he was too chicken to meet the man he had grown to desire. 

“No polyjuice?” Blaise asked in greeting after watching his friend with an arched brow stroll elegantly towards him. Draco was clearly, though not visibly to the untrained observer, nervous about the meeting. He’d obviously spent ages on his outfit, before settling on the dove grey pants with a white shirt that suited him perfectly. It was smart enough without trying too hard. 

“Nope. I didn’t want to be worrying about it wearing off if things went well. Plus, if he can’t handle the fact it’s me then..” Draco sniffed pointedly, “Well, then he doesn’t deserve to know me.” 

“Brave choice. Almost admirable. Will have to call you a Gryffindor soon if you keep that up.” Blaise teased as they walked side by side in the direction of the coffee shop they’d arranged to meet at. 

“Shut up Blaise.” Draco smiled before a frown settled over his features. “I really hope we click in person too.” 

“Of course you will, you’ve the Malfoy charm to use too. Now how are you going to know which ones him?” Blaise looked pointedly at the café door, their arrival at their destination apparent. 

Draco gulped. Why had he done this to himself? “We agreed that we’d both carry a blue handkerchief in our top pocket.” He gestured to his azure blue pocket square.

“Ah right cool. Well, see you later.” Blaise jauntily waved, ready to make his exit. 

“Wait! Have a look for me! Tell me if he’s good looking?” Draco pleaded. Blaise rolled his eyes but dutifully peered through the window, searching for the blue handkerchief. 

“Right… so I see a very fit guy over there… wait no hankie… what about him? Nope… no hankie. Oh wait, I see a blue handkerchief… hold on.. the waitress is moving out of the way. I see him..” Blaise trailed off in shock as he realised that the signature item belonged to the one and only boy wonder. 

Impatient to hear more, Draco snapped. “So, is he passable?” 

“Well, he’s certainly your type..” Blaise edged with a building amusement.

“I knew it. He had to be!” Draco practically crowed with joy, triumphant in that knowledge. Unfortunately Blaise felt duty bound to burst the bubble of delusion, at least so his friend could be prepared.

“You know, he sort of looks like Potter.. he was always your type. Dark hair, bright eyes..”

“Potter? Who cares about him? Potter is nothing to me.” Draco rolled his eyes, too happy with his success to care too much about irksome matters.

“Well, if you don’t care about Potter, I can tell you right now that you won’t care for this guy.” At Draco’s look, he continued. “Because this guy is Potter.”

“What?!” Outraged, Draco stormed past the man and glared into the window. Potter? Of all the low, underhanded schemes, the saviour had tried to humiliate him with this? Pretending to be an interesting funny guy? Loathsome! Well Draco would no longer be his fool.

“I’m not going in.” Draco announced decisively, beginning to turn around on his heel to walk away.

“What about Potter? You’ll leave him waiting for you?” Blaise asked.

“He’s nothing to me.” Draco shrugged, leaving Blaise to follow him in awkward silence as they strode steadily away from the shop. 

 

Self-consciously slurping yet another refill of tea, Harry sat morosely at his one person table. He could feel the looks of pity sent his way; the condescending smiles of the waitstaff that served him with a far too chipper tone. Why hadn’t SN7 shown? Was he just running late? Had he changed his mind? Or was it all an elaborate prank? 

Ding. The doorbell to the café chirped again. Harry’s eyes shot upwards, only to be drag down by the lead feeling in his stomach. It was just two girls coming for their caffeine fix; no mystery man with a blue handkerchief in sight.

Another twenty minutes had passed and Harry couldn’t help regretting his decision to not use polyjuice. Perhaps SN7 had come and seen him, and simply had walked away when he’d seen ‘the boy who lived’? Not a lot of people would want to handle that pressure, Harry surmised. But he had wanted to start this off honestly, he couldn’t imagine the uproar that would have surely occurred if he’d revealed it later on. No he didn’t need that. 

Harry groaned. Yet another person had come through the door that was not SN7. But this time it was worse. Much worse. The bane of Harry’s existence (now that good old Voldy was dead) had arrived, bizarrely as this was a muggle establishment, and everyone knew that Draco Malfoy did not interact well with those. Wanting to avoid a confrontation, and possible a violation of the statute of secrecy, Harry turned in his seat so that he was slightly out of view. 

He watched with guarded amusement as Potter pathetically attempted to conceal himself. It had been an arduous decision to return, he’d riled against himself every step of the way, but at the same time he just couldn’t help himself. He was curious. How could Potter be the perpetually engaging Quidditchboy? The blasted boy-who-lived was barely coherent, not like his charming PenPal. So he’d returned, sans blue handkerchief of course, against his better judgement. 

 

A dark shadow fell across his table. Harry’s eyes were drawn upwards, reluctantly, till they met the startling silver grey of his once arch nemesis. The blonde git smirked before raising an eyebrow in greeting.

“Well Potter, what do we have here? You waiting on a date?” Draco tutted mockingly, “What would Weaselette say?” 

“Not that it’s any business of yours Malfoy, but I’m waiting for a friend I’m not sure if you’ve heard of those.” Harry replied tartly, horrified when Malfoy took this as an invitation to sit down. 

“Pretty dressed up to meet a friend?” Draco mused. “You’ve even got yourself a blue pocket square. Surprised you knew those existed. Being fashionably challenged and all..” 

A waiter cut off any response that Harry might have made snidely by coming over to their now shared table and taking Draco’s order. He proceeded to order himself a pot of tea, ignoring Harry’s vehement protests that he was not sitting there. 

When they had gone, Draco fixed his steely gaze back in Harry’s direction before idly commenting; “So, where is this friend? Are they imaginary?” 

“I’m sure he’s just running late.” Harry shrugged defensively, ignoring the sting of hurt as he recalled their no-show. 

“Oh, it’s a guy. Yes I’d forgotten about your whole coming out party a few years ago..” He smirked knowingly. 

Trying to be reasonable, Harry took a deep breath before saying, “Look Malfoy, I don’t know what you’re doing here but can you go? I’m waiting for someone.” 

“Oh don’t worry Potter, I’ll just wait till they get here. Keep you company so no one thinks you’re a lonely loser.” He thanked the waiter who had brought him his order. 

“Nothing better to do? No friends of your own to annoy?” Harry fumed, temper rising. “Oh yes, they’re all in askaban aren’t they?” 

Draco winced, the place he’d spent while waiting for trial still haunted him. “Don’t you dare talk about that place.” 

“Touchy subject is it? Scared you’ll end back up there?” Harry taunted, anger over-riding any rationale. “People might go to your store Malfoy but they don’t respect your name. Not anymore. They were happy when you and your father were there.” 

Draco for once was gobsmacked. “I didn’t know you had it in you Potter. You’re clearly busy, I’ll leave you to it.” He managed tonelessly. Harry had hit his mark and Draco rose despondently. The brunette watched the figure leave, guilt and bitterness filling up within him as he did so. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 10: 

 

Dear SN7,

Where were you? You don’t seem the type of person to stand someone up. Sarcastic yes, but never unnecessarily cruel. Did something happen? I’ll admit that whilst I was waiting for you, those were some of the worst hours of my life in recent years. 

My long term nemesis, a rival from school showed when I was expecting you. I was crushed. He was his expectedly vicious self, until I said some horrible things that I regret. I lashed out at him, when all I really felt was anger at myself, anger for believing this. 

The thing is, my long term rival, is actually not a bad guy at all. Sure, I might pretend he is, and he might too. But deep down we both know he has a goodness that can’t be denied. I’ve seen it. So, what I said to him, he didn’t deserve. SN7 why didn’t you show? 

Quidditchboy

 

Draco stared blankly at his W-book. When he’d first seen Potter’s message, he’d almost deleted it out of spite. He’d returned home the evening before in a mood so foul, even Astoria hadn’t attempted to coax him out of it. The first time he’d read it, he’d snorted in contempt, the ever righteous Potter apologising for a conversation he had not instigated. The second and third time though, Draco began to feel guilt for his own part and absolution for Potter’s. Perhaps he’d judged Quidditchboy too rashly, perhaps they could have been friends? That’s if he’d not mucked it all up by leaving him hanging. But what to put? What lie could he conceive to explain his actions? Dragonpox outbreak? Wand gone faulty? Dementor uprising? No, Draco did the only thing he could, he told the truth (an abridged version at least).

 

Dear Quidditchboy,

I can only apologise profusely about my absence last night. I can’t tell you yet why I wasn’t there but perhaps in time I’ll be able to explain my actions. Just know that I’m sorry for causing you any worry. 

Don’t feel guilty for your words. We have all said things we regret, especially when we are upset. You mentioned that your rival antagonised you, perhaps your words were just and needed to be heard? Even if you felt bad saying it. 

I hope we can still talk, messaging you has been one of the highlights of these past few months (you’ve even turned me into a Hufflepuff) and hope that one day when we meet, I can give you your owed truth.

Yours,

SN7

 

Harry had eagerly clicked on the message from his PenPal, expecting all sorts of excuses and reasons why he’d not shown. Instead, the man had surprised him an uncharacteristic openness filled with raw honesty. Though still hurt, Harry had decided to accept the apology, even if he was wary of suggesting or arranging a meeting anytime soon. Perhaps they would forever only communicate online. 

 

Draco was unsure how to combine the duality of Quidditchboy and Potter. One was a dear friend that he’d grown to respect and admire, Potter was well, Potter. It was hard to understand how the two could be one and the same. Though looking back through their previous history, it seemed obvious to him. Wading through a water fountain to rescue kids was such a Potter thing to do. The connection had been there all along, and Draco just didn’t know how to feel about it. He resolved to carry on as things were, talking to Quidditchboy in the same way as before, delusion had always been one of his favourite vices after all.

 

In the passing weeks, Christmas loomed imminently and the whole non meet-up had been brushed aside. His work colleagues had been curious how his ‘date’ had gone, outraged on his behalf that he’d been stood up by the cad. Harry had rushed to reassure them, stating that his long distance friend must have had his reasons and that he’d made peace with the fact that his relationship would only be virtual. 

Though Harry was content in the steady thrum of his personal life; Ginny though away for the season still sent weekly owls, he saw Hermione and Ron with the rest of the Weasley family at least once a week at the burrow and he had made time to spend with Teddy (when he was sure he wouldn’t run into Malfoy), but sadly the run up to Christmas brought yet more devastating news. His store was still in trouble. 

Since the opening of Quidditch Direct, the store’s profits had been dwindling till only a loss was being made. The publicity from the articles had done barely anything to stem the lack of customers. Interest had piqued, but people still seemed to flock to the chain stores as Harry had feared. If things didn’t change imminently, Harry would have to close the store for good; he might be independently wealthy but to maintain a profitless store would impact even his fortunes. He owed it to his employees to let them know before he had to close the store for good. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 11:

 

“It’s only a store Harry. Honestly, just get another job when you feel like it. You don’t need the money.” Ginny had said through the fireplace when he’d called her with the news that had weighed heavily on his mind. 

“Gin, you know that place is like my home. I couldn’t imagine working anywhere else.” Frustration coloured his words as he tried to explain the deeper connection the role held for him. 

“You’ll be fine…” Ginny waved him off, “Now did you see the article Johnson had written about the team the other day? I honestly can’t believe that she’d said Hollingsworth was the star player.”

Harry sighed, knowing that she could not (or would not) understand his plight and instead feigned interest in her latest complaint about the bias in sporting media. It was a usual topic for her, and Harry had no way of preventing it once it had begun. Unbeknownst to him, he wasn’t the only one with relationship woes as the holidays drew near. 

In the days leading up to Christmas, Draco had had enough of the hints from both his mother and Astoria about a proposal. Visiting his mother for his weekly standing invitation for afternoon tea had always been a pleasant enough affair, now all his mother seemed to say and ask was; when are you and Astoria going to get married? Why don’t I have any grandchildren? Do you want me to get your grandmother’s engagement ring out of the vaults? 

If that wasn’t bad enough, Astoria seemed to have become fixated on the idea of their impending engagement. It appeared that a number of women on her committee had recently gotten married or at least engaged, and she wanted in on the action. Their shared home was now littered with bridal magazines stacked on their coffee table, a completely unsubtle approach for a Slytherin, Draco shook his head in disapproval. It wasn’t that he was against marriage, or even his relationship with Astoria; he just wasn’t sure if he wanted them combined. 

Still, life for Draco plodded on like it always had; checking in at their stores across the country, compiling data reports with Blaise for his father whilst drinking, spending time with his extended family after enquiring if Potter would make it to the festivities or not. He’d still been avoiding the man after their blow out in the café and whilst he still spoke almost daily with Quidditchboy he had yet to internalise the two as being one and the same. Though he couldn’t help but feel sorry for his friend when the announcement came.

It was only a few short weeks after Christmas had been and gone that Harry had reluctantly made the decision to close the store for good. The notice sign was put up, to the dismay of his loyal customers and a final farewell sale was scheduled to clear the rest of his stock. Upon hearing the news, Lucius had smugly summoned his son to celebrate. Draco’s heart hadn’t been in it though. He now knew how much the store meant to Potter and he felt it impossible to gloat in triumph at the other’s misfortune. 

Astoria had found it shocking that Draco wasn’t crowing his victory. The person she’d known would have been utterly gleeful at thwarting Potter. When she said as much, Draco could only sigh as they made their way home after a tiring shopping trip in muggle London. 

“I know Astoria, what can I say? I just can’t take pleasure in his downfall.” Draco explained as he put away the items from the shopping bags she had purchased. The statute of secrecy had prevented any lightening charms so his arms still ached from the loading of clothes. 

“It’s so unlike you. Still I’m glad all this Potter nonsense is over. We can focus more on other things; like me. And you. Your mother says we can use your villa in Tuscany for the honeymoon..”

Draco blanched at the turn of conversation. “Now wait one second, I don’t think…”

“You’re right.” Astoria interrupted sitting primly on their shared king sized bed. “Tuscany would be boring, we need to show we are adventurous. Maybe we could go to Rio De Janeiro? Ooh we could hire a private yacht..”

Draco took the opportunity to interrupt her vivid fantasy. He swallowed knowing that it must be said. “Astoria. I don’t think I can marry you.” 

“Why ever not?” Shock plastered her carefully sculptured face.

“Because, I don’t love you. I’m not sure I ever will.” Draco felt a huge weight had been lifted from his soul as he admitted this. 

“And? You think I love you? Don’t be daft Draco. Love is for Hufflepuffs and sentimental Gryffindors. We have something much more valuable. We have a shared sense of duty, familial expectations and pedigree background.” She shrugged practically as though this was a given.

Draco stood up. He shook his head gently, feeling overwhelmingly tired as he spoke his next words. “You don’t understand Astoria. I do want to marry someone I’m in love with.” 

“You’d throw away our fortunate match for tripe fed to non pure blood children? Be sensible, you’ve never even been in love.”  
“You’re right.” Astoria’s face lit up temporarily before falling as he continued. “But I think there’s someone that I could fall for.” 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 12: 

Harry eagerly opened his mail from SN7 the following morning, a wave of happiness surging through him. He enjoyed hearing about the other man’s exploits, even if they had yet to schedule another meeting. 

Dear Quidditchboy, 

As ever, I am glad that I’m able to call you my friend, especially now when I have just broken up with my long term girlfriend. Though, I’m not particularly heartbroken, I know that my family and friends will not take it well. They had rather liked the idea of myself and my ex together, and I know it will be a bitter disappointment for them. How are things on your end? Still vegetating after all those Christmas chocolates? I’m sad to say that I allowed myself to indulge far too much and so I’m on a strict healthy diet for the foreseeable future! One cannot look this good without a little sacrifice, alas. 

Yours, SN7 

 

The enthusiasm with which Harry consumed the letter surprised him; he felt a shocking resonance with his PenPal’s predicament. More and more lately, Harry had been feeling like his relationship with Ginny was just not working out, but he was terrified of the Weasleys’ reactions, particularly Molly’s. He knew she’d been planning their wedding for a very long time, even though he’d yet to show any sign of proposal. In the very deepest corners of his mind he knew, he knew that their breakup was inevitable. He’d just not even had the chance to see her in a good long while. It was not the sort of thing that you’d do over floo or w-mail after all. 

 

“Your mother is not impressed.” Lucius remarked dryly, stepping into his son’s now mostly empty flat uninvited. Draco snorted. It figured that Astoria would go running to his mother. She’d had one hell of a tantrum when she’d realised Draco would not budge on the matter; she had been decidedly unladylike in her homophobic slurs. 

“I don’t doubt it.” Draco got up and poured whisky for them both, his upbringing ensuring that the correct hosting etiquette would always be met. “And are you mad also?”

His father strolled from his spot at the fireplace and elegantly took a seat on the sofa. It was clear he enjoyed the suspense by the small smirk that graced his lips. “No. The Greengrass family whilst wealthy are not part of the Sacred Twenty-Eight.” He took a large sip of his drink before continuing. “I’d recommend finding a suitable bride soon though Draco. Your mother wants a grandchild and I need a heir.”  
“I know my duty. I just want more than a loveless match.” Draco spoke uncharacteristically truthful to his father who raised his eyebrows in surprise. His son had grown bolder after the ending of the war, but still tended to defer to their wishes. 

“Draco, you are aware that your mother and I didn’t marry for love?” At this he nodded solemnly. “It did however, grow into respect and admiration. That’s all anyone can reasonably expect from marriage. None of these foolish notions of soulmates and unyielding passion.” 

 

“I don’t know father. Surely it’s not hard to find someone that truly understands you and inspires you to be a better person? Someone who’d risk their life for yours and you’d do the same?” 

His father frowned in puzzlement. “How decidedly un-Slytherin. I doubt there’s many that would risk themselves for someone not of blood.” 

Potter would Draco thought to himself, remembering how it felt to be clung to the saviour, arms wrapped tightly around muscles as they flew high above searing flames. He shuddered at the memory as it licked warmth to his present and he knew without a doubt that he had his answer. Potter, or at least Quidditchboy, understood him, Potter had always managed to get under his skin, inciting a whirlpool of feelings that he’d struggled to suppress while at Hogwarts. Draco knew that he’d been more than attached to Quidditchboy and therefore Potter by default. The trouble was, how was he to get Potter to give him a chance? 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 13:

 

His doorbell rang loudly. Startled, Harry wrapped his dressing towel tightly around his underdressed body and edges towards the door. It was the middle of the day during the workweek and so it was unlikely to be Hermione visiting, and Ron would use the floo if he wasn’t in a grumpy mood with Harry at the moment. Harry had broken up with Ginny the previous weekend after the closure of his store. He was currently single and unemployed, life was certainly not working out well for him. Still, it could only get worse when he saw just who it was that was visiting him. 

Draco stood nervously on the step. He’d explained to his aunt, who’d given him Potter’s address, that he wished to make amends. Her eyes had seemed to sparkle as she’d wished him luck and Draco had taken the address slip and fled before he could change his mind. 

“What are you doing here?” Potter answered, without overt hostility, but not what most would consider polite.

“Aren’t you going to invite me in?” The blonde smirked and Harry’s face felt mysteriously hot as he saw the once over he was given. Realising his lack of modesty, he blushed further.

“I have no idea why you’re here, so no. I don’t think so.” Harry snapped beginning to turn so he could close the door in the smug face. Sadly, he heard the blonde’s protests before he could shut it fully.

“Potter. Look. I’m sorry okay? Can you let me in, I wanted to talk.” Piercing silver eyes implored him and Harry wavered, sighing in resignation. 

“Fine. Whatever. Come in Malfoy.” Harry shrugged, too tired to delay the inevitable. 

Draco stepped into the cosy abode, seeing the warm grey cushions and fluffy white blanket spread upon the cream sofa and he smiled. The place oozed comfort and was quintessentially Potter. 

“No Weasellette- I mean Ginevra?” Draco stifled his habitual sneer, bad habits did always die hard. He’d noticed the lack of ginger and her belongings, and couldn’t help the frisson of hope that sparkled in his chest. 

Harry glared at the question, his brow furrowing into an admittedly cute frown. “No, we broke up.” He appeared to dither before sighing and offering to make the blonde a cup of tea. 

“That would be lovely, thank you.” Draco smiled disarmingly remembering his best manners. “I’m sorry to hear that. Astoria and I broke up recently too.” 

The tea Draco was offered when Potter returned from his open kitchen was perfect and he sipped gratefully in the silence that threatened to turn awkward. 

“Why are you here?” Potter asked as he took a seat in his large armchair, taking a swig from a mug emblazoned with ‘Hapless Hero’. Draco presumed it was a gift from the Weasleys.

“Because, I want something Potter.” Distrust filled the brunette’s eyes before he continued. “I want to be your friend.” 

Harry’s heart thudded painfully in his chest as those molten eyes pinned him with a sincere and thrilling focus. “Why?” Was the only thing he asked. 

“Despite what you might think Potter, I have changed and I wanted to make amends.” The earnest gaze overwhelmed him, making him want to turn his head, before he remembered. 

“I’m not sure you can ever make up for ruining my store.” Harry spoke softly with a tinge of melancholy. 

“I know.” Draco hung his head. Then, in a moment of courage and humility, he stuck out his hand once more for Potter to shake. “But I do want to try.” 

Harry warily clasped his hand in the smooth and soft palm of his once enemy’s. He admired the bravery it had clearly taken, and he had to remind himself of his fixation with SN7 when the pulse of attraction thudded in his throat. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 14: 

To say that Harry was bewildered by the impromptu visit of his once former nemesis would be an understatement. In the days since, Harry had replayed their conversation in his head, searching for an angle or hidden threat. He did have plenty of time after all. But finding none to fathom, Harry had to conclude that he was simply baffled by the enigma that was Draco Malfoy. 

True to his word, Draco had begun the process of making amends with Potter and hopefully gaining his affection, when a few days later he sent a letter with a small parcel attached to a more than imperious owl. 

Potter, 

I know it’s my fault that you have lots of free time (apologies again) so I thought I’d gift you with a hopefully welcome distraction. Archimedes has brought you a set of tea to brew with a strainer and over hot water (not that ghastly muggle contraption you call a kettle). There’s Oolong, White Peony, Green and my personal favourite Rooibos. I figure, if you didn’t mind the company I could come by on Monday at tea time. I promise to bring my house-elves’ best biscuits? 

Yours, 

Draco Malfoy  
The blonde waited anxiously for his owl’s return. He hoped that Potter would agree. He’d schemed for ages a way to get the other wizard’s attention and fell back on traditional English past times. He could only hope it would be enough and that Potter wouldn’t take offence to his gift of tea. 

He had finally managed to distract himself when he heard his bird tap gently on the window with a dainty claw. Heart beating nervously, time seemed to stand still as he clutched at the letter. Ignoring Archimedes’ squawk of dismay, he ripped open the ribbon that bound the scroll of parchment and read. 

Malfoy, 

I’ll be honest I wasn’t expecting to hear from you, especially with a present for me. Thanks for the tea, I’ll give it a try on Monday with you. I wouldn’t have a clue how to make it anyway. Come round whenever, it’s not like I’m doing anything anyway, no matter how many job adverts Hermione sends me.

See you (I guess),

Harry 

 

Harry had puzzled over his reply for a good hour and half before eventually accepting the invitation out of curiosity. Whilst undeniably true that he didn’t have a clue where to start when making the tea, Harry also didn’t fully trust Malfoy with this overture and would feel infinitely more comfortable if he knew that the tea wasn’t laced with poison or something. 

Upon reading the reply, Draco was substantially shocked that his plan had progressed nicely with the acceptance of his tea. Now, he had only a few days to kill until he could go and visit the man. Fortunately, distraction came in the form of his friend Blaise and the catastrophe that was his relationship with Pansy. 

“I don’t see the problem?” Draco remarked as they entered their usual haunts. “How is her agreement of you going on a ‘lads holiday’ a bad thing?” Blaise had been itching to go party in the Mediterranean with the gang from school for a while, it had always been themselves and Theo after the war had ended, living life to the maximum after the gloom that had plagued their childhood. However, in the last two years he’d not been able to, out of deference to Pansy’s wishes and their newly established relationship. 

“It’s a trap, obviously.” Blaise responded with confidence. “Any Slytherin worth their salt could see that.” 

Draco couldn’t hold in the laugh he felt rising at his friend’s paranoia. “Blaise. For salazar’s sake, how could it be a trap? She suggested it as she knows it was our tradition and she knows Theo and I will keep you out of trouble.” 

“I don’t know Draco, it could be a set up. Where she’s secretly wanting us to not go and if I accept she’ll use it against me. You know what Slytherin girls are like.” Blaise sighed dramatically. “Speaking of; how did the break up go between you and Astoria?” 

Draco had to grimace at that. “It wasn’t pretty. A lot of name calling and items thrown at my head. Good job I’m handy with a protego.” 

“Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned. You’re lucky you like both. Maybe a guy would be better?” 

“I don’t know Blaise. Men can be pretty petty too. You did know me in Hogwarts after all.” His friend snorted in concurrence, his friend hadn’t taken Potter’s rejection well. 

“Hmm, speaking of. You still speaking to that PenPal AKA Potter?” Blaise smirked with a knowing eyebrow arch. The blonde had always been obsessed with the Gryffindor from the second they had met.

Draco spluttered before composing his smooth features. “I am. And before you ask, he doesn’t know it’s me.” 

“Dangerous game.” Blaise laughed softly, “Hope it doesn’t blow up in your face when he finds out.” 

“It won’t. I have a plan.” Draco smiled with more confidence than he actually felt. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 15:

Harry sat strangely nervous as the hour drew closer to when Draco would arrive. He’d changed out of his outfit a good few times before selecting his first outfit again. Shaking his head, he chided himself, it was only Malfoy after all. 

“I brought you these.” Malfoy thrust an exorbitant bouquet of white lilies into Harry’s hands in greeting as soon as the door opened. 

Harry blinked owlishly, too struck by the sight of Malfoy in tight jeans and a pale blue button down to realise what he’d been accepting. Awareness of the fact that he’d been staring materialised and he flushed. 

“Erm Malfoy? Why did you get me flowers?” He finally managed as the blonde had already swept by him and was reclining elegantly on his sofa as though he belonged there. 

“Why? Do you not like them?” Malfoy smiled with a confident grin. 

“Erm… no.. they’re beautiful? I just don’t know why you got me them?” Harry really did have difficulty concentrating on anything but the figure in front of him. 

“Because, I’m trying to make amends and I like to gift my friends.” Draco said simply before reaching into his jean pocket and pulling out a large and ornate brewing set, complete with fine china. Noticing the bewilderment on his companion’s face, Draco smirked.  
“What? Have you not seen an undetectable extension charm before? I’d have thought Granger would have used one.” 

“She has… but never on pockets. What else you got stashed in there?” Harry couldn’t help but ask as his eyes were fixed on the tight fabric where the pocket lay flat. 

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Draco winked, nearly causing an aneurysm in Harry’s brain. He cleared his throat nonchalantly as though he’d not noticed the other’s reaction. “So, are you going to bring the tea Potter? Or do I have to do all the work?”

“Oh… um. Yeah. I’ll bring it.” Harry fled to the other side of the open kitchen where he could compose himself amongst the cupboards. He brought the collection he’d been gifted and placed it beside the blonde. 

“So how does this work?” Curiosity beckoned and he did want to know how Malfoy’s snobbish tea would actually be superior. 

Draco gestured for Harry to watch as he waved his wand with a flourish, using a swift augmenti for the water. A charm encouraged the tea set to begin brewing and Draco carefully opened the first of the packets. 

“First we wait Potter, for the optimal temperature to be reached.” Harry found himself smiling at Malfoy’a clear enthusiasm and leant in closer subconsciously.

 

Harry honestly wasn’t sure if he’d ever laughed so hard. Malfoy, when not being a prize git, was actually pretty funny. During the sampling of the tea he had begun some of his favourite impressions of their teachers from Hogwarts. 

“..You can’t seriously tell me that your punishment from McGonogall was to take a biscuit?” Malfoy had spluttered in disbelief when Harry found himself regaling tales of his own exploits.

“Well, she also looked very, very disappointed with me too?” Harry protested with vehement laughter.

“Are you sure that wasn’t her normal face? I swear she never once smiled! Merlin I was terrified of her.” Draco confided, a beatific smile emblazoned on his face.

“I think we all were. Even Dumbledore.” Harry added without thinking about the connection to the person he was with. Silence fell that Draco struggled to fill. He refused for his tete a tête-à-tête with Potter to become awkward, not when it had been going so well. 

The blonde cleared his throat. “Speaking of terrifying head of houses; got to admit Snape had that competition won fair and square.” 

“I don’t know. You Slytherins seemed pretty chill with him.” Harry laughed, happy for the resumption of the conversation. 

“Oh don’t worry Potter. In private we got our lambasting. He might have seemed to have favourites but any infraction was severely met. He just didn’t broadcast it.” Draco shuddered at the memory of the tongue lashing he’d received first year after being caught out past curfew. 

“Good. You got to admit. It wasn’t very fair.” 

Draco smirked. “Oh I know, but I wasn’t going to complain.” 

Harry couldn’t help but laugh. “Why weren’t we friends?” 

“You refused to shake my hand in first year.” Draco aid glibly. 

“Ah.. but you was a bit of a prat.” His tone was teasing with no venom or bite.  
“That I was.” Draco admitted with a soft chuckle, before letting out a minute sigh.

Harry felt a strange urge to comfort his former nemesis and offered up his hand to be shook. “We’re friends now though.”

Draco’s hand felt smooth in his and they fulfilled their long awaited handshake, over a decade past due. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 16: 

The following few days saw Harry waking up with a smile on his face and a spring in his step. He told himself that it was coincidence that this buoyant mood occurred at the same moment he’d become friends with Draco, but he wasn’t sure if he even believed his own lie. He’d been so busy, he’d not had much chance to look on his w-book which he now did with guilt and anticipation. 

Loading, as always, took a while before the WOL server materialised and he saw that he had Owl-Mail as the icon indicated. He held his breath as he tapped his wand to determine whether it was from his PenPal. Exhilaration sprung through him when he realised it was indeed from SN7. 

 

 

 

 

 

Dear Quidditchboy,

It feels like an eon since we last spoke. Perhaps that’s an exaggeration but it does feel like forever. I’ve been working hard on that sensitive project I told you about. Don’t worry, once it’s complete I think we should definitely meet up. 

I know losing your business has shaken you. Don’t let it. You are strong. Courageous. And so amazing that I’m going on about your virtuous like a damn Hufflepuff. Regardless, I am sincere in that I’m sorry for your loss but that I’ve every confidence you’ll pull through. 

Speak soon,

SN7

The tumultuous feelings that swirled in Harry’s stomach made his heart race and throat dry while he read the letter. He liked SN7, a lot. But how could he like him that much but also want to spend so much time with Draco? It made no sense and Harry felt conflicted. Still, he eagerly replied to the missive with a happy hum of contentment.

 

“How’s the plan going?” Blaise asked as he swept into the room with a languid gait. Draco looked up from his W-book and tried to hide the happiness he felt bubbling from him.  
“What plan?” He asked blithely, summoning a tumbler for his unexpected guest to drink from.

“The plan to woo Potter, so that he doesn’t care that you’ve hidden your identity for so long.” Blaise sipped his drink before getting up to check himself out in the large monochrome mirror above Draco’s fireplace. 

“Oh that. It’s going swimmingly. All I need to do is make Potter find me irresistible as both identities. That way I’ll win whichever one he picks.” 

“I’m kind of intrigued. How are you planning on making yourself irresistible?” Blaise laughed as he straightened up the few stray strands from his hair. 

“Oh my dear Blaise. Watch and learn.” Draco winked before pulling open his W-book that he’d closed to compose a witty reply to Quidditchboy, Blaise staring at his writing in amazement.

 

It seemed to be an almost daily occurrence that Draco dropped by to Harry’s abode and it was becoming increasingly addictive. He would waltz in to the living room, often with a new delight to share with Harry, and make himself at home on the sofa. 

“So, you been seeing anyone since the Weaselette?” Draco asked with faux casualness on one of the occasions, causing Harry to cough in surprise. 

Recovering himself with a sip of his jasmine infused green tea, Harry replied. “No… well I mean, not really but kind of sort of.” 

“How can you be ‘sort of’ seeing someone?” Draco smirked but inwardly he felt deflated, he hoped Harry wasn’t dating anyone. He wanted his chance. 

“Well, don’t laugh.” Harry began awkwardly. “Do you know those W-books?” 

“Yes I do, and I can’t promise anything.” A mischievous smile played on his lips.

“Well, there’s WOL, a place where you can talk to each other.” 

“Wait. Don’t tell me. You’ve got owl mail?” Draco asked with a confident raise of his brow. 

Harry froze in disbelief. “How did you know?” 

“I know a lot of things Potter. I’m surprisingly multi-talented.” He joked with a heart stopping grin. “So you talk to a person online. What’s complicated about that?” 

“Well, I’ve not actually met him…” Harry admitted with a blush. 

“Really? So how do you know you like him?” Draco burned with curiosity to hear the reason why Potter at least liked him as an anonymous correspondent. 

“I just know him. He’s smart, funny, very snarky actually. But at the same time, he’s got a hidden soft side and he just gets me.” 

“Wow Potter, he sounds perfect but what’s if he’s, you know, ugly?” Draco jibed with a wink that made Harry flush. 

He shook his head to dislodge the curious fluttering in the pit of his stomach. “Ah Malfoy, looks don’t matter to me. It’s his personality that I like.” 

Draco rolled his eyes. “How Hufflepuff of you. Are you saying you would still date him if he had warts on his face?” 

“Yes.” Harry nodded earnestly.

“What about if he’s so fat he can’t walk?” Draco probed with clear vindictive pleasure.

“That’s unlikely but I would.” 

“How about if he refused to shower or use a scourgify?” 

“I’d help him sort out his personal hygiene but I’d still date him. 

“Merlin, you really are a saint Potter. That’s one lucky guy.”

Draco’s heart beat faster at the friendly smile Harry shot him at the compliment. “You’ll make a lucky someone happy one day too.” 

“I really hope so Potter. I really hope so.” 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 17:

 

Dear Quidditchboy, 

I do think it’s time we should meet. How is your next weekend looking? The project I mentioned is coming to a close and it should all be settled then, one way or another. There’s a delightful Italian bistro in a muggle park not too far from Diagon. If you say yes, I’ll be there waiting with blueberry muffin ice-cream. 

Yours,

SN7

 

Harry’s heart was hammering so fast he could barely breathe as he read his latest correspondence. It was time. He replied swiftly with glee, only to be startled by an imperious knock at his door. One that he’d become all too accustomed to. He fought the frisson of excitement that ran through him as he grinned at his expected visitor. 

They sat, comfortably sharing their usual tea when Harry felt that he couldn’t contain his excitement any longer. 

“So.. you’ve decided to go on a date with your PenPal Potter?” Draco arched his eyebrow inquisitively in response to Harry’s admittance. 

“Yup. In like a weeks time.” Harry nodded, “I’m pretty nervous to be honest with you.” 

“Well it makes sense to be. It could be anyone.” A mischievous smile played on Draco’s face as he added wryly. “It could be Goyle.”

The blonde laughed as Harry’s face blanched. “You’re a bit sadistic Malfoy.” 

“It’s part of the charm.” He winked. “Anyway, I’m still not sure how well he can read so you should be fine.” 

Harry shuddered at the thought, but it was highly unlikely it was Goyle of all people. The silence drew on and a pregnant pause proceeded Malfoy in taking a deep breath. 

“Do you think we might have hit it off Potter? If circumstance had been different?” The blonde stared at him intently, grey eyes molten silver.

“I don’t know.” Harry replied, not sure how to deal with the fluttering of his pulse and the desertion of his famed courage. 

“I wonder sometimes. If I hadn’t been a Malfoy and you’d not been the saviour whether we’d have worked? Or maybe if my family hadn’t owned Quidditch Direct and you didn’t own Quality Quidditch and we’d met again through Teddy?” The earnest tone tugged at his heart strings and he felt an urge of longing. 

Harry could not fathom speech with the captivating individual in front of him. 

Taking Harry’s silence as a rejection, Draco laughed self-deprecatingly. “I guess there’s my answer.” 

Knowing that he had to speak, if only to ease the pain in the blonde’s eyes, Harry summoned his courage. 

“I’m not sure what would have happened Malfoy, but I think we can both admit we’ve always been drawn to one another.” 

“Isn’t that the truth. Still, I guess it’s too late. You have that love letter guy to meet.” Draco sighed. 

“I do. Look Malfoy-“ Harry began.

“-It’s fine Potter. I wouldn’t deserve you anyway. Let’s talk about less maudlin things.” Draco flashed a brief smile to reassure Harry. 

“You would.” Was all Harry managed in response before Draco resolutely changed the subject for the rest of their afternoon chat. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 18:

 

Draco had still come around after The Discussion, as Harry had titled it in his mind, though he made no mention or suggestion of anything amiss. He still mocked Harry in jest, little flecks of banter peppered into conversation as he tried to ‘educate Harry out of his plebeian ways’. It had all seemed so normal, so routine that Harry was half sure he had dreamed the whole encounter. 

“You ready to meet Mr Wonderful?” Draco smirked when Harry opened the door. He’d asked for him to come around the morning of the date so that he wouldn’t have to stew with his nerves alone. 

“I guess… I mean.. um I think so?” Harry was a mess of anxiety and anticipation. 

“And are you wearing that?” Draco quipped with a sardonic grin.

“I thought I was?” 

“I’ll help you get dressed Potter, need to have you looking your best after all.” Harry flushed as Draco stepped closer to him, lithe fingers peeling at the buttons of the checkered shirt he’d clearly unwisely chosen to wear. 

Harry shivered as he shrugged out of the clothing, trying not to feel self-conscious at the appraising stare Malfoy gave him. 

“I think you should wear these jeans with this shirt. I’m not sure he’d be able to resist you like that.” Draco plucked the old jeans from the wardrobe that Harry had forgotten he’d bought when he’d first started on the gay scene and believed that he had to wear tight fitting clothing all the time. 

“Are you sure?” Harry gulped as the fabric fitted to his thighs and buttocks like a glove.

“Perfectly. You look great. This guy is so lucky, he doesn’t even know.” 

The atmosphere felt charged as Draco’s silver met the emerald green of Harry’s eyes. It seemed to Harry that Draco yearned to say something else, but then thought better of it. 

“I best be going Potter, you’ve things to do after all.” Harry watched sadly as Draco left the room. He shook himself, he did have a date to prepare for after all. 

 

 

If Malfoys were able to sweat, Draco would be dripping profusely. He was nervous. What’s if Potter hated him for lying to him? What’s if he didn’t want Draco at all and was expecting a wholesome do-gooder to be his PenPal? 

The time for the date was nearly upon him and he made sure he was looking his upmost best with his dove grey suit and white linen shirt. Blonde hair coiffed stylishly, a small spritz of his favourite potion aftershave and he was ready to go. 

It was unseasonably warm when Harry headed out towards the park at the arranged time. Heart beating faster with every step until he finally reached the sea of green that held his fate. Rounding the trees he saw the Italian bistro and gulped nervously as the sign for the ice cream came in sight and he reached the entrance. He was going in. 

The ice cream had started to droop with the spring warmth as Draco sat with practiced elegance. Harry was bound to be bursting through the door at any second and Draco needed to at least appear poised. 

Harry walked through the door and saw him. Blonde hair, aristocratic features and deliciously supple body. Yup, it was definitely Draco Malfoy and Harry didn’t know how to react. Did he jump with glee? Laugh feverishly? Or angrily rave at the fact that he clearly knew it was Harry all along?  
“Draco? Of course it’s you.” Harry whispered in disbelief as he took in the man that stood up and offered him a blueberry muffin ice cream. 

“The one and only.” Draco winked, “Are you surprised it was me?” 

“I think I always sort of knew it was you. At least I hoped so.” Harry shyly looked underneath his eye lashes at the smug prat. 

“Potter, it has always been you.” Draco stepped closer towards him, softly clutching at the hair he’d dreamt about for too long. He pulled Harry into the kiss they’d been waiting for, chuckling at the ‘oh’ Harry let slip in surprise. 

 

“I just can’t believe that the two men I had fallen for had both been you.” Harry remarked a short while later, ice cream sticky in their hands.

“What can I say? I’m irresistible.” Draco quipped and nudged his body into Harry’s playfully. 

“That you are.” Harry agreed solemnly, before pulling him in for another kiss. 

 

Epilogue: 

 

Harry grinned at the antics of his godson. Teddy had woken Draco and himself up very early in his excitement to open his Christmas presents. Bouncing on their bed, he’d raced around the master bedroom whooping with joy as he sang “God rest ye merry hypogriff,” at the top of his lungs. 

“Potter, why did we say we’d keep him?” Draco groused, groggy in his warm duvet and blonde hair ruffled with sleep. 

“Oh so I’m Potter now?” Harry joked, amused despite the cacophony of noise that reigned in their room.

“Indeed, you are when you’ve annoyed me.” Draco smirked.

“I see. Well, as long as you still love me?” Harry smiled at his fiancé. 

“Of course I do you prat.” Draco sighed.

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and comments are love :)


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